


Sickchester Vol. 6

by Pineprin137



Series: Sickchester: The Complete Collection [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Annoyed Sam Winchester, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Coda, Concussions, Coughing, Cursed Dean Winchester, Dehydration, Episode: s01e18 Something Wicked, Exhaustion, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Guilty Dean Winchester, Headaches & Migraines, Hell Trauma, Hex Bags (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, In Public, Nausea, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secrets, Sick Character, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Side Effects, Stomach Ache, The Impala (Supernatural), Vomiting, Witchcraft, Worried Dean Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, striga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: And the story continues...
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Sickchester: The Complete Collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683565
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	1. Weechesters

“Hey, Dean?” 

Dean slowly dragged his eyelids open to see his seven-year-old brother kneeling on the floor by the couch. 

He groaned. “Wha’d’ya want, Sammy...?”

Sam frowned before turning his attention back to the ancient TV currently providing his after-school amusement. “How come you didn’t pick me up by the tree?”

“What?” Dean said, blinking against the bright light. Oh, he did not feel well  _ at all.  _ Unable to get his blurry vision to focus, he settled for flinging one arm over his face. 

“You  _ always  _ pick me up by the big tree. That’s the pick-up spot we  _ agreed _ on.” 

Dean squinted at his brother. “What does it matter which tree? You saw me there.” 

“Yeah--But I was  _ expecting  _ you to be by the  _ big tree _ .” 

Ugh. Sam could be so friggin’  _ annoying _ ! “I guess,” Dean started, “I didn’t realize it was one specific tree. I just thought we agreed on the trees.” 

His stomach was starting to churn again, so he reluctantly hauled himself up into a seated position. He cradled his aching head in one hand and massaged his stomach with the other. He’d hoped Sam wouldn’t notice, but those hazel eyes zeroed right in on his stiff movements. 

Scooby-Doo completely forgotten, Sam knelt on the dingy carpet so he could reach Dean’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, De? Are you hurt?” 

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine.” 

It was a lie. 

He’d woken up feeling like crap and been sent home from school with a fever just before lunch. When Dean got back to the one-bedroom apartment their dad had rented- for three weeks while he was helping some other hunters nearby- he’d had an upset stomach. 

He had figured that since he skipped lunch, maybe he was hungry. He’d made himself a ham sandwich and had a glass of milk with it. 

However, the small meal had only made him feel worse. 

He’d been napping on the couch when the alarm he set to remind him to pick up Sam went off. 

“No, you’re not,” Sam said stubbornly. “You’re pinching your nose, like when you have a headache, and you’re rubbing your stomach. You’re not okay.” Sam peered closely at his big brother before stating, “You’re sick.” 

“What? I’m not sick.” Dean tried to brush it off. He didn’t want Sam to worry about him. Dad trusted him to take care of Sam while he was gone. Dean could handle a minor flu bug. Sam didn’t need to know. 

“Yes, you are.” 

“No. I’m not. Let it go, Sammy.” 

“No! You’re sick. So, you hafta let me help you!” 

Dean balked, “What? No, I don’t.”

“Yes...you...do!” He stomped his foot on the floor to emphasize each word. 

“Sam, stop.” Oh, boy. Dean’s stomach was doing somersaults. He briefly closed his eyes, breathed through his nose trying to quell the rising nausea. 

“NO! You take care of me when  _ I’m _ sick! So, I should get to take care of you when  _ you’re _ sick!” 

Dean needed Sam to be distracted so he could go into the bathroom to get sick, but his little brother wasn’t having it. He was adamantly arguing that he had a right to be Dean’s nurse. 

“Sammy, please, just-” Dean stood up, swallowing thickly. He stepped around his brother. “--watch your show...” 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, hurrying after him. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

“You’re gonna puke.” 

Sam said it so matter-of-factly that Dean actually stopped to look at him. 

“No. I’m not,” he said weakly. “I’m fi--fine.” Sweat was gathering on his upper lip, and he could taste the remnants of his ham sandwich in the back of his throat. 

He was definitely going to puke, and Dean didn’t want an audience. Why did his brother have to be so damn difficult! Why couldn’t Sam be like all the other little brothers who were obsessed with talking dogs and wouldn’t want to be anywhere  _ near _ their older brothers when they were sick? 

They were standing at the threshold to the bathroom. 

Dean gave one last attempt to keep Sam from seeing what was about to happen. “Go watch your-” he gulped, “--cartoons-” Dean gagged and pressed the back of his hand to his lips to keep from spewing all over the floor. 

Whether Dean liked it or not, he was out of time. 

Resigning himself to Sam being witness to him getting sick, Dean walked into the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. He lifted the lid and the seat up, then leaned over the bowl. Almost immediately, Dean burped and a stream of milky puke poured into the water. As he waited with his head over the bowl and a string of saliva hanging from his lip, he felt a small hand tentatively smooth over his spine. 

“It’s okay, De. You’ll feel better once it’s over.” 

Dean only had a moment to be thankful for his little brother’s company before his back arched and a mess of food flowed from his mouth. His eyes watered and his nose ran as his stomach forcefully evacuated all of its contents. 

Sam stayed the whole time, rubbing Dean’s back in between the awful heaving and, eventually, fetched Dean a cup of water so he could rinse his mouth. 

Dean was exhausted after it was over. His body was achy and sore, his throat hurt, and he was freezing. 

With Sam’s help, he made it back over to the couch and collapsed onto it. All he wanted to do was sleep. 

Sam grabbed the blanket and pillow from their room and brought them into the living room. He tucked the blanket around Dean, then placed the pillow under his head. 

He crawled under the blanket with Dean. 

For the rest of the evening, Sam enjoyed the cartoons on the TV while his big brother slept behind him. 


	2. Secrets

“Dean?” Sam sighed, “Have you even heard a word I just said?” 

Dean looked up from his coffee cup to blink at his brother. “...What?”

  
  


Sam shook his head. “Forget it.” He started angrily shoving things back into his bag and stood up from the booth. “I mean, it’s not like Iike I didn’t even want to come on this stupid job, anyway!” He stomped over to the exit and shoved the door open with enough force that it slammed into the wall, and the bell jangled noisily. 

Dean winced before smiling sheepishly at the rest of the diner’s occupants. He threw a twenty on the table and grabbed his jacket. 

Stepping outside, he spotted Sam sulking in the Impala. 

It had only been sprinkling when they arrived, but now, the rain was coming down in sheets. Dean didn’t blame his brother for hiding out in Baby’s dry interior.

Turning his collar up, Dean sprinted over to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. He turned his head and opened his mouth, but he stopped when he saw Sam’s state. His brother’s long hair was plastered to his head, and he was  _ pissed off _ . 

He didn’t spare Dean a glance, choosing, instead, to continue scowling out the side window. 

Dean decided now may not be the best time to have a heart-to-heart. Sighing, he pulled Baby out of the parking lot and headed back to their motel.

The room was nice and toasty, but Dean wanted to groan when he stepped inside. He was already plenty hot, sweating through his tee-shirt and dampening the armpits of his overshirt. 

Sam disappeared into the bathroom and a moment later, Dean heard the shower turn on. He figured brushing his teeth could wait until morning anyway.

Stripping down to his briefs, he crawled into one of the beds and closed his eyes. 

When Sam emerged from the steamy bathroom half an hour later, he found Dean sound asleep with the blankets pulled up to his ears. 

He frowned and walked over to place his hand on his brother’s forehead. 

_“Dammit, Dean…”_ he mumbled, feeling the heat radiating from the cocooned body. His brother obviously had a fever, yet he hadn’t told Sam.

Once again, Dean only thought of himself. 

A raspy cough jolted him out of his pity party, and Sam frowned at his sick brother before venturing back into the bathroom to grab a few things from the medkit.

After placing the thermometer, a glass of water, and two gel capsules on the nightstand, Sam snagged the keys to the Impala, donned his jacket, and left the room. 

Dean moaned and rolled over, not wanting to get up yet though his bladder begged him to. Truth was, he felt about a hundred times worse than he had when he went to bed. His nose was stuffed up, his throat was scratchy and dry, and his head was pounding. 

Carefully shifting his body to the edge of the bed, he slowly sat up. 

Once the room righted itself, he stood and made his way to the bathroom. 

He shut the door most of the way, then flipped the light on and shuffled over to the toilet. He peed and blew his nose, before moving over to the sink. 

His pee was dark yellow which wasn’t good-- He was definitely dehydrated. 

Dean reached for the cups they’d had sat beside the sink and frowned when his hand came up empty. 

_ Where’d they go?  _

Frowning, he wandered back over to his bed and sunk into it. All that walking around had made him dizzy… 

“So-- How long have you been feeling bad?” 

Dean jumped when Sam spoke. He’d thought his brother was asleep, but, apparently, not. 

In answer to his question, Dean shrugged. 

“Started this morning.” 

“And you didn’t tell me  _ because-- _ ?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “ _ Because  _ I’m fine. It’s just a cold.” 

“Dammit, Dean! You always do this!” 

“Do  _ what? _ ” 

“Try to handle everything on your own!” Sam grabbed one of the empty cups and stormed over to the mini-fridge to pull out the bottle of cherry-flavored sports drink. “You  _ insist _ on mother-henning me whenever I so much as sneeze without your permission-” He stomped back over to the bed and shoved the cup at Dean. Then, he grabbed the packet of flu meds he’d bought at the drugstore and popped two out of the foil wrapper. 

“But you  _ refuse  _ to tell me when you’re obviously not well enough to take care of yourself!” He angrily dropped the pills into Dean’s hand. 

Dean peered up at his brother and winced when he was met with the worst of Sammy’s bitchfaces. This one would curdle even Crowley’s rotten blood. 

Sam closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Dean, so help me  _ God _ \--If you don’t take those in the next ten seconds, I will hold you down and shove them down your fucking  _ throat _ !” 

Dean coughed pitifully in his elbow. “I don’t mother hen,” he mumbled, quickly swallowing the meds when Sam narrowed his eyes. 

Only when he’d drank the entire glass, and  Sam had taken his temperature-- one-hundred-point-eight-- was Dean allowed to lay back down. 

Though Sam was obviously annoyed with Dean, he didn’t crawl onto his own bed until he was sure his brother was comfortable and had plenty of tissues in reach. 

Dean couldn’t fall asleep with the guilt weighing so heavily on him, though, so he rolled over to say, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…” 

Sam harrumphed, flipped a page in the book he was reading. 

Dean smiled. “Thanks for taking care of my stubborn ass...Bitch.” 

“Get some rest, Jerk.” 


	3. Netflix and Ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean checks out a new show on Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried watching The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. It was...dark. I'm not a huge fan, but it *did* give me some inspiration ;)
> 
> The scene is from Part 1, Episode 3: The Trial of Sabrina Spellman.

“Sammy, come in here! You gotta see this!” 

Sam rushed down the hall towards his brother’s room imaging all sorts of horrific things. He skidded to a stop in the doorway and frantically searched the room for whatever had caused Dean to shout. 

He frowned, chest heaving when he saw no obvious threats. 

“Dean? Where is it?” he asked, out of breath. 

Dean grinned from his spot on the bed. “Look-- this is awesome! You gotta check it out.” His eyes flicked to Sam before returning to the TV. 

Realizing his brother wasn’t actually in danger, Sam’s shoulders sagged in relief. “What? Dean, I was in the middle of--” 

“Seriously, Sam, just c’mere.” Dean patted the bed beside him. 

Rolling his eyes, Sam walked into the room. He stood beside the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “What could possibly warrant you summoning me--” he stopped when Dean started laughing. “That’s it,” he said angrily, “I’m leaving.” 

“No, Sammy, wait--” Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto his lap. “I didn’t mean to laugh, I’m sorry.” He turned his attention back to the screen where a girl with bright blonde hair and a dark-haired boy were walking in the woods. 

“I found this new show on Netflix, and, Sam-- It’s awesome! I mean, you gotta see this shit!” 

Sam couldn’t tell if his brother was serious or not, but he was definitely intrigued. Deciding he could use a quick break from the mountain of lore waiting to be cataloged, he shifted so he could see the TV a little better. 

The scene seemed serious, from what Sam could tell, but without any context, he only had the images in front of him to go off of. 

The boy was telling the girl about something that happened to him when he was younger. He’d gotten lost in a mine while playing a game with his brother and some friends. 

Sam knew from experience how easy it was to get lost in the black void of endless tunnels, so he could relate. 

Okay, now, the boy was describing something he saw. 

_ And then, I saw...it, Sabrina.  _

_ What? _

_ This is gonna sound crazy--But I swear to God, it-it looked like a goat. Only bigger, and standing up on its hind legs, and-- it smelled like a book of matches had been struck. _

The monster is revealed in the boy’s flashback-- and Sam has seen it before. 

Suddenly, Sam is back in the cage. He can smell Lucifer approach, hear the deep clang of his claws on the bars. The hairs on the back of his neck stand and he shivers. 

Vomit surges up his throat. 

“Woah!" Dean’s hands move him so his head hangs over the side of the bed as he continues to puke. "Sammy?!”

Sam can't stop, and Dean is starting to freak out. 

“Shit! Sammy, talk to me! What’s wrong?” 

His big brother's voice is frantic in his ears, but Sam is still seeing the afterimage of The Devil in his eyes. He blinks hard--once, twice. Desperately grabs fistfuls of Dean’s shirt. 

The boy on the TV is still talking about what he saw. 

Sam spits out a mouthful of watered-down spaghetti and begs his brother, “T-turn it o-off.” 

Dean quickly snatches the remote and hits the power button. “It’s off, it’s off. You’re okay, little brother.” He hauls Sam against his chest and wraps his arms around him tightly. “I got you, Sammy, you’re okay...” 

Giving a shaky nod, mostly for Dean’s benefit, Sam clings to his brother. 

Once Sam calms down, Dean doesn’t mention what happened or ask any questions. 

He doesn’t tease when Sam hovers around him for the next few weeks or plasters himself to Dean’s side in the dead of the night. 

Dean can guess what set him off, and although he himself spent forty unholy years in the bowels of Hell, Dean never came face-to-face with the big guy. He’d seen Lucifer in his vessel, but Sam...Sam had seen the fallen angel’s true face. 

So, when Sam screamed himself hoarse during vivid nightmares and clung to Dean like a second-skin, Dean did what he could to soothe his brother. After all, it was his fault, if unknowingly, that Sam’s Hell memories had been brought back to the surface. 


	4. Blood

“Something’s wrong…” 

Sam looked over at his brother and immediately started searching for a spot to pull off the road.  Dean was shaking like a leaf, his face ghost-white. 

Something red dripped from the corner of Dean's mouth, and his breath stuttered. 

“Dean--Man, talk to me!” 

Instead of answering, though, Dean spat a mouthful of something into his hand. It was too dark to see, the moon hidden behind dark clouds, but Sam was sure it wasn’t saliva. 

“Dean?” 

Dean blinked hard, trying to get his vision to right itself. “Sam, something’s wr--” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by him coughing up blood into his lap. He only had a second to panic, before he was suddenly puking all over the floorboards. 

When Dean began projectile vomiting, Sam wrenched the wheel to the right. “DEAN!”

The Impala skidded to a stop in the dirt, but Dean didn’t seem to be aware they’d stopped. He was clutching his belly as the blood continued to pour from his mouth. 

Sam was frantically feeling under the seat with his hand, then wrenching the doors open, so he could search the backseat. “I can’t find it!” 

No longer able to hold himself upright under the onslaught of the spell, Dean fell back against the seat. It felt like his insides were being clawed out of him, tears streaming down his face as blood bubbled on his lips and tried to choke him. He turned his head and spat it out, no longer caring that his beloved Baby was getting caught in the bloodbath. 

Finding nothing in the back, Sam ran to the trunk and opened it up, but all he saw were the same talismans, weapons, and ammo they usually had. “Dammit!” 

In frustration, he kicked the back tire. 

The proverbial lightbulb went off, and Sam hurriedly fell to all fours, so he could check the wheel well. The rear one was clear but tucked up in the front, he spotted a little black bag tied up with a red string. 

“Hang on, Dean!” He yelled, scrambling for the lighter he knew Dean kept stashed in the door. The Bic flared to life, easily lighting the hex bag.

Feeling the spell lift, Dean clutched his chest and dragged in several large breaths. 


	5. Relic

“Aw, man, this is bullsh-” Dean’s words were cut off by a strained heave. “ _...ow…”  _

He spat into the trash bin before raising his head to glare at his brother. “This is utter bullshit, man. I didn’t even touch the damn thing!” 

Sam winced. “According to the legend Bobby found, the stone targets those the person holds dear, so-”

“So, because  _ you _ felt up the Diamond Lady-” 

“...Emerald Empress…”

“-- now,  _ I’m _ the one who suffers?” At Sam’s nod, Dean gave him a wry look. “Well, isn’t that just  _ peachy _ .” 

“Dean, if I knew, I wouldn’t have-” 

Dean rolled his eyes. He wasn’t interested in his brother’s apology. He just wanted to end the damn curse. “How do we stop it?” He swallowed a gag. 

“Well, uh, since no one’s ever found it before… there isn’t much to go on-”

_ “Awesome…” _

“-- but from what Bobby could find, apparently, if we shatter the stone, it should break the curse.” 

Dean dry-heaved over the can, spitting out a mouthful of bile. “Great,” he said, coughing as overwhelming nausea rose again. 

“Let’s give that a try…” His stomach contracted painfully, and he vomited. 


	6. Striga

“Sam! C’ mon, dude, let’s get on the road!” 

Sam opened his eyes to realize he’d fallen asleep at the motel table. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. “What?” he asked, trying to follow his brother’s movements around the small room. 

“I said, let’s get a move on. I want to get on the road soon, so we don’t have to pay extra.” Dean was shoving clothes into his duffle, but he stopped to really look at his brother. 

Sam was pale, his face drawn tight against a headache, and there were large bags under his eyes, even though he’d already slept about ten hours. 

“You feeling okay, dude?” he asked, walking over to place his hand on his brother’s forehead. He was a little warm, but not extremely so. 

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘m just a little tired, I guess.” 

Dean shook his head, walked back over to the bed to finish packing. “Don’t know how-- you’ve been out of it for almost ten hours.” 

Sam balked. “I was out for--Why didn’t you wake me?” 

Dean’s eyebrow rose. “Well, excuse me, princess-- I didn’t realize I was supposed to be your manservant.” At Sam’s bitchface, he sighed. “The witch-bitch took a lot out of you, dude. I figured you could use the extra z’s.” 

“Hm,” Sam grunted, trying not to fall asleep. He was just so tired… 

Concerned by his brother’s distinct lack of energy, Dean ruffled his hair as he walked by on his way to the bathroom. “Nap time’s over. Pack up. I gotta take a leak then, we’ll head out.” 

***

“Dude, maybe you should call Sarah and cancel…” 

Sam lifted his head from the pillow. “Wait, so, first, you’re shoving me towards her, and now, you want me to cancel?” 

“You can barely move, Casanova.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m just not sure how you expect to show Sarah a good time when you almost fainted taking a piss...” 

Sam blushed. “I told you, I stood up too fast.” 

Dean sighed and turned back to the computer in front of him. “Uh-huh. Sure. We’ll go with that.” 

***

The Impala was filled with palatable tension as the brothers tailed John’s truck. Dean was anxiously waiting for the inevitable explosion that happened whenever his dad and brother started stepping on each other’s toes. 

Not to mention, he was really starting to worry about Sam’s continued lethargy. 

When it was just him and Sam, Dean could pick up the slack caused by his brother’s delayed reflexes and shortened attention span, but with Dad around, it would be a lot harder to cover for him. 

Dean glanced to his right and saw Sam leaned with his head against the window, fast asleep. 

_“Dammit, Sammy…”_ he mumbled, reaching a hand out to gently shake his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up, sleepin’ beauty.” 

Sam sat up in the seat and blinked a few times, trying to wake up. “Are we there?” he asked, yawning. 

His movements were sluggish- like he was running on half-power, even though he’d been sleeping near-constantly over the last few weeks. 

Dean frowned. “Not yet. But we need to have a little chat before we meet back up with Dad.” 

“‘Bout what?”  Sam said, twisting in the seat. His back popped loudly. Dean winced. 

“Sam, man, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but this isn’t just regular didn’t-get-enough-sleep tiredness.” 

Sam gave him a look. This wasn’t the first time his brother had tried to bring up the topic. “Dean…” 

“No, Sam. I’m serious.” Dean turned to look at him before he looked back out at the road. “Ever since you and the Striga sucked face, you’ve been...off. You sleep more than a hibernating bear, you barely eat, you’re constantly yawning, and your reflexes are shot to hell.”

Hearing the genuine concern in his brother's voice, Sam shrugged. “Okay, yeah. I guess I’ve been a little tired lately, but-” 

Dean shook his head. “No- this is not ‘tired’, Sam. Tired is when you pass out due to exhaustion, catch a couple of hours, and wake up refreshed and ready to kick ass.” 

Again, he turned his head to look Sam in the eyes. 

“Sammy, when was the last time you actually felt rested?” 

Sam thought about it and realized his brother was right. As much as he slept, he should’ve been running on full by now, yet he was  _ still _ tired and weak. 

“I...don’t know. A few weeks, maybe?” 

“Sam, man, I think that Striga did something to you. Something that keeps draining your battery...”

Feeling the edge of fear creep in, Sam looked to his big brother. “What do we do?” 

“Look, if you think you can make it through this case with Dad-- I think, after, we should do some research- see exactly what that psycho doctor must’ve done to you.” 

Sam blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay. That- that sounds good.” 


	7. Public

_ Bang! Bang! Bang!  _

The force of Dean’s fist against the stall door made the whole thing rattle and shake. 

Sam winced. He’d been hoping to be on the mend before Dean came to check on him. Sam knew he would-- They’d been about to leave the diner when Sam hurriedly excused himself and practically ran to the men’s room… 

Dean’s voice was tired, but the concern was evident. “You alive in there, Sammy?” 

The nausea swirling in his gut made Sam grimace, but he shouted over his shoulder. “Yeah! Just-” 

Something rose in his throat, and Sam leaned a little further over the toilet bowl. When the need to hurl faded, he breathed out slowly. 

“--need a minute.” 

“Sam--what’s wrong? You feelin’ sick?” Leave it to his big brother to figure out Sam was feeling bad just from the sound of his voice. 

“I’m fine, Dean.” He wasn’t. But it was embarrassing enough to be on his knees in the men’s room of some dingy diner, he didn’t need Dean crowding his space and making him feel like he’s four years old again.

“ _ Sam…”  _

“I said, I’m  _ fine _ !” 

There was a long pause before Dean said, “Open the door.” 

“Dean, seriously--” 

“Sammy... Open the door.” 

Dammit. How could he refuse that soft sweet voice? 

Sam reached behind himself to unlock the door. 

As soon as the door opened, Dean crowded into the stall. “How long you been feelin’ bad?” he asked, crouching behind Sam. He placed his hand on Sam’s forehead to check for fever. Sam allowed it. 

“About ten minutes after we got here.” 

“Dammit, Sam. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Dean was so talented, he could berate Sam for withholding information while still playing the part of a supportive big brother. 

He removed Sam’s jacket and overshirt, then snaked his hand underneath the flimsy tee-shirt to gently rub Sam’s stomach. 

Sam shivered under the familiar touch. 

Heat rose from his belly... _ into his chest...up his throat… _

He retched, but nothing came up...yet. 

Dean combed his bangs out of his face and moved his hand to smooth over Sam’s spine.  _ “Easy…” _ he murmured. 

One second, Sam felt like he was on fire, the next it was as if someone dumped him in a vat of ice water. 

He vomited. 

It erupted out of him in a continuous waterfall of partially digested food and lukewarm soda. 

“Alright, little brother, I gotcha.” His big brother’s voice was as comforting as the steady weight of Dean’s hand on his back. “There you go, let it all out,” Dean softly coached. 

Finally sitting back on his heels, Sam felt ready to sleep for a week. His abs ached, his back was sore, his throat was rough as hell, and his head was pounding. Grateful for his brother’s presence, he leaned his head back against Dean’s shoulder. 

Keeping his eyes open was too tiring, so he let them slip closed. He heard the flush of the toilet then rustling. Dean wiped his face off and helped him over to the sink to rinse his mouth. 

He kept one arm wrapped around Sam while he used the other to clean Sam up, get him redressed, and open the door. 

Sam blindly followed his brother through the diner and out into the parking lot. He sighed when he heard the loud creak of the Impala’s door and ducked his head when told. 

The faint crunching of Dean’s boots in the loose gravel preceded another squeak. 

Once Dean was in the driver’s seat, Sam scooted over to lay his head on his brother’s shoulder. 

Dean carded his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Feelin’ any better?” he asked quietly. 

Sam nodded. “A little.” 

“Alright,” Dean said, reaching to turn the key in the ignition. The Impala rumbled to life. 

“Let me know if you need to stop.” 

With that said, they pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road. 


	8. Concussion

_ “Hey, S’mmy, ‘member when that ghost busted yer’ head in?”  _

Sam frowned when he heard Dean’s woozy voice coming from the backseat. 

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, Dean. That happens a lot…” 

_ “Dad was there...and um, we were...doin’ sumthin…”  _ Dean’s voice drifted before snapping back into focus.  _ “What were we doin’?”  _

“Uh, I don’t know. You said there was a ghost…” Sam peered through the windshield, praying they would come across a motel soon. Dean was lying in the backseat, but he really needed a bed. 

The spirit had gone after Dean hard- first, tossing him into a tree, then, kicking him in the head. When he lost consciousness, Sam’s heart had stuttered in his chest. 

As soon as he finished salting and burning the bitch’s bones, he’d looked up the nearest ER. 

Before they left the hospital, the doctor had pulled Sam aside to warn him it might take up to a week for Dean’s sensitivity to light, noise, and smells to go away, and he would probably have a little trouble remembering things. 

No stranger to a concussed big brother, Sam was now on a mission to find somewhere for them to hole up while Dean was still in the pliant stage. Because experience warned him that after that his brother would move into full-on pissed off, not-going-to-do-what-you-ask-no-matter-what stubborn Dean Friggin’ Winchester mode. 

A groan brought him back to the present. 

Sam turned, so he could peer into the backseat. “You okay back there, Dean?” Clocking the pale pallor of his brother’s face and the way his head was pushed into the leather seat, Sam hurriedly returned to his motel search. 

_ “S’mmy…”  _ Dean moaned.

“Yeah?” Sam had a feeling he knew what was coming, but there was nowhere to pull over safely, and he really wanted to get his brother somewhere safe. 

_ “Don’...don’ feel good…”  _

“I know you don’t, dude. I’m going to find someplace you can sleep. Just, hang in there. Okay?” 

When Dean gulped so loudly he could hear it plain as day, Sam cursed under his breath. He glanced at the phone sitting beside him on the seat, but there was still no signal. There was a town about fifteen miles ahead of them, and he prayed they would make it in--Dammit.

Sam did his best to ignore the sounds of his brother getting sick on the floor of the backseat. 

Dean sniffled and ran a hand over his mouth before gently patting the seat beside his throbbing head.  _ “‘M so sorry, baby…” _

"Hey, it's okay, Dean. I'm sure she'll forgive you." Sam spotted a flickering sign and pushed the gas pedal down a little further. 

_ "You think so?" _ Dean slurred as the Impala rumbled into the parking lot of the small motel. 

The lot was filled with large cracks and sunken areas, but Sam didn't care. The Impala had driven over worse, and he needed to get Dean in a bed. "Yeah. She knows how bad you feel right now," he said distractedly while he popped open the glove box and grabbed the emergency cash. He couldn't risk one of their fake credit cards. 

He looked at his brother. "I'll be right back, okay?" Dean's pupils were unfocused, and his head lolled on the seat. Sam didn't want to leave him. "I'm gonna go check us in, then I'm gonna get you into a nice, soft bed." 

Dean didn't reply. 

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands squeezing the steering wheel in a very Dean-like move. _"Hang in there, big brother..."_


End file.
